Musings of an Adolescent
by StarKid McFly
Summary: When Harry gifts his niece with a diary at Christmas time, she decides to use it to record her new founded resolution. Will she rise to provocations? Will she insult her opponents? No. Because Roxanne Weasley has decided to be good. Or at least will try.
1. December 26th

**Hello!**

**For those of you who don't know me, I am Rocky, and this here is my latest fic!**

**Basically, the story behind this one is that I wanted to write something for Roxanne, because I feel for her. And so I wrote it in diary form!**

**Loosely based on Bridget Jones's Diary form, but not following the same plot and equipped with Hogwarts.**

**Disclaimer: Me no own HP :D**

_December 26__th_

**11.30 p.m. **I've decided to be good.

Not the kind of good where you cut down on calories (although this probably wouldn't be a bad thing after hearing Abrah Venison hiss that I had "thighs the size of tree trunks"), or the kind of good where I start to take in strangers from the cold and feed and clothe them and give them all of my money (I fear no-one can honestly _be_ that nice; even if they were they'd never be able to do it again). No. I'm going to be good as in I will be perfectly pleasant to everybody, even Abrah bloody Venison, the poisonous cow who has the nasty habit of being in every single one of my lessons with her blonde hair and huge tits, each smirking at me and my flabby thighs. I will not rise to it, for rising to it will be bad, and I will therefore be a bad person. It all works out in my head, you understand.

Uncle Harry bought me this diary for Christmas. It's a shit present really, but I promised I'd use it. After all, I did buy him a chocolate frog, which had ended up having his bloody card in it. Oh, the irony. But he accepted it with good grace, saying that he hadn't got this one yet.

So, putting two and two together in a fashion of extreme cleverness, I have decided that I will record my acts of goodness in this diary for the next year. Yes, I know. Genius. That way, I can look back on all the times I almost rose to the challenge and stopped myself, to remind myself what a good person I am.

Today, however, is not the day I begin my Acts of Goodness. After all, it _is_ Boxing Day, which is in fact an extension on Christmas when all you do is stuff your face with cold leftovers and reflect on how overindulged you are after yesterday. Did you know, on average a person consumes over seven thousand calories on Christmas Day alone? It's amazing when you think about it; it's pretty hard to exceed your GDAs anyway. But, with Gran's fabulous cooking, I'm not at all surprised. And I _was _having a competition with James, Fred, Lily and Louis over who could fit the most Pringles in their mouth at once (James won; it's probably because he can't keep his shut). Anyway, returning to my former point, I failed upon my good deeds on this day. And it was all because of my idiot of a brother.

Fred's a twat. A ginger twat. Which only makes his twat-ness a whole lot more twat-tish. After a conversation in which we had decided that from now on we would be a voice of confidence to each other, I decided to mention my insecurities with my legs. It's not like they're enormous or anything, in fact, I think they could be a lot worse. But they aren't stick thin, and they're a bit too wide to be classed as curvy. It also doesn't help that I'm about as flat-chested as bloody Fred himself. It annoys me that body varies dress size. How can I be a size eight on top and a size fourteen on bottom? That doesn't even make sense. There are about a thousand other things I'm not happy with; I hate having glasses, my hair's too curly, there isn't a type of foundation that perfectly matches my skin tone, my eyebrows are darker than the rest of my head and that makes them look bushy... The normal adolescent girl problems. Although, every other girl in the world is prettier than me, obviously, and so I don't see how they're entitled to moan. Especially Abrah Venison. Though I'm sure she moans merely to spite me.

But I mustn't rise to it.

Frederick, after listening intently to my insecurities, _laughed_, and proceeded to make some wise crack about my appearance that rubbed me up the wrong way. So I did the only thing that merited the current situation. I smacked him one.

Dad thinks it's hilarious, but he's always one to make a joke out of a crummy situation.

"Still trying to be good, sweetheart?" he had said to me with a smirk. I had snapped at him angrily.

Mum hadn't found it quite so funny, but she was a driven feminist so didn't mind so much about me punching Fred, she was more annoyed that he had laughed at my 'cuddliness' as my best friend describes it, and that I had even considered telling him.

"If you ever need to speak to someone in confidence," she told me later, "speak to me. Fred isn't exactly sensitive."

"He was telling me about his girl troubles," I snapped angrily. "I didn't laugh at him about them, and they were pretty ridiculous. He's all about Lydia McKinnon at the moment, and she's _way_ out of his league."

"I don't care," Mum told me. "You trust no boy with your secrets."

"Not even Adam?" My best friend: tall, handsome, raven-haired and remarkably homosexual.

Mum considered. "Maybe Adam. But not Fred. If I had ever trusted any information with Uncle Tiberius..."

Mum continued her rant, whilst I smiled amusedly. My mother was all for her feminist opinions when it suited her, but she wasn't truly extreme. After all, she was partial to occasional flirting, and she_ had_ married my father.

If Dad was any more laid back, he'd be dead. Sometimes he acts more like a friend than a father, and I think this irritates Mum, who wants him to "set standards" and "help with the parenting".

"Dad, do you think I'm fat?" I asked him later that day as we sat together, listening to a Quidditch match aired over the Wireless.

Dad looked up at me. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm not thin, and I want to know if that qualifies me as grossly overweight or not."

Dad studied me. "Nope," he said.

"'Nope' what?"

"You're curvy, Rox," he told me with a smile. "You're not enormous, but you're not a twig either. You look like a woman rather than a little boy. Your Mum was curvy too."

I smiled. "You know all the right things to say."

"I've had practice."

And with that, he returned to reading his book, and I was left to wonder if he really meant what he had just said.

Other than that, not much else happened today. I got a letter from Fearne, my other best friend, telling me all about how her sister had broken her laptop by spilling tea on it and how in return, she had broken Gill's nose. Maybe it was just a Christmas thing, siblings punching each other. I'm sure Uncle Charlie punched Uncle Percy one year. Though he did deserve it. Maybe Fearne needs to start being good as well.

My Acts of Goodness will officially start tomorrow, I have decided. After all, we're visiting the Potters, and there will be plenty of opportunity to avoid rising to provocation.

As for now, I feel that an early night is called for. Perhaps three stone will spontaneously combust whilst I sleep. Or maybe world peace will break out overnight and we will all live forever more in happiness (whether because of the peace or the mysterious loss of weight).

We can all live in hope.


	2. December 27th

**Two chapters in one day? Wow!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP. :)**

_December 27__th_

**6 a.m. **6 a.m.? What a ridiculous time. Who invented it? It's all because the Potters live in Godric's Hollow, which is about as far away from London as you can get without actually leaving the country, and Mum fell out with the Knight Bus conductor last time we took it and ever since then we have been forced to find other methods of transport.

Therefore, in order to prepare for what is sure to be a day of frivolous drinking followed by a rowdy game of Quidditch, we're up at this ungodly hour.

Three stone unfortunately did not spontaneously combust; apparently vigorous activity is still the only way to get rid of excess weight. Goddammit.

On the up note, it snowed! It actually snowed at Christmas time! A feat I had deemed impossible. After all, we live in England, when the only time it usually snows is around April, which is the time bunnies should be hopping around.

**11 a.m. **Arrived at the Potters. Uncle Harry actually seems a little in shock that I have used the diary. I smiled and said something cheesy about always being grateful for Christmas presents.

James is on top form today; he's made four comments about my top. He stopped after he realised I wasn't returning his banter, and when asked why, I responded with a seven minute lecture of my Acts of Goodness. After that, he hasn't bothered me since, just irritated my brother. Hmm, I could get used to this being good shit.

**4 p.m. **Auntie Ginny just made the ace suggestion of me doing one random act of kindness every day along with this Goodness lark. She also told me to set a target to be good till; apparently she tried it once and only lasted four days before she hexed Uncle Ron. When I said I didn't blame her, she grinned and told me that I was indeed a Weasley. She then poured me a large glass of firewhiskey and invited me to a game of wizard chess, stating my parents need never know. Good old Auntie Gin.

**4.30 p.m.** My One Random Act of Kindness went completely unnoticed. I offered to plait Lily's hair for her because she couldn't do it herself, and when I had finished, all she said was, "My Mum does it better than that."

**4.45 p.m. **How much longer of this being good do I have to do? The temptation to pin James up against the wall is rising steadily.

**11 p.m.** Just got a letter from Adam inviting me round in the summer. I'm hoping if I ask Dad he'll say yes, and then I won't have to battle it out with Mum about "avoiding family" and "being unsociable". Two weeks with Adam is the welcome break I long for. Two weeks of watching Hugh Grant and Johnny Depp films and drinking "hot chocolate with all the trimmings" is exactly what I need, and possibly _deserve_ after being so exceptionally nice today. I actually _offered_ to de-gnome the garden (Auntie Ginny _had_ been refilling my glass several times) in the cold of December, and I helped Albus tidy his room (admittedly it isn't that messy but Albus has a bit of OCD and likes his books to be alphabetized, and his scrotum of a brother had messed them up just to irritate him) which is also counted as a bonding session with my young cousin who needs the friendship.

Dad says he could get used to me being so wonderfully kind.

"It's stressful having two teenagers," he informed me. "Acting maturely really increases my likening of you both."

Bless him.

**11.45 p.m. **Dad says I can go to Adam's! Words cannot describe happiness. I wasn't sure whether to write this entry first or the note to Adam to tell him of this joyous news, so I've decided to alternate. Every full stop reached, I switch paper. Life is good. Being good is good.

Why did I never think of this before?


	3. December 28th

**Ohhhhhh it's short. Very short.**

**Sorry about that.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP.**

_December 28__th_

**11.54 p.m. **The trouble with having such a large family means that you're either never in the house or somebody's always visiting. Today Uncle Bill, Auntie Fleur and their brood of stunningly beautiful children arrived on our doorstep. Obviously they're family and I don't mind particularly, but I am determined to get back to Hogwarts purely for the privacy. I miss being able to sit in silence reading and not being branded "unsociable" or "miserable".

On the plus side, Victoire bought me a late Christmas present, and it's absolutely beautiful. She made it herself; it's a silk shawl and she's embroidered on little patterns that remind her of our friendship and relationship. She also bought Fred a Quaffle signed by the Chudley Cannons, who are his absolute favourite team. He and Uncle Ron always support them, although they never seem to do particularly well.

And Louis was a sweetheart as usual. I took him down to the local sweet shop (One Random Act of Kindness, no?) and in return he made me a collage out of the wrappers that wasn't half bad. He told me if I held it up to the light, it would glow and look pretty. I've hung it in my window, and he's ever so pleased.

Dominique has agreed to join me on my Acts of Goodness routine as she feels that she can be incredibly rude to everybody at times. I see no reason why she'd need to be rude; in fact every moment in her company I find her sickeningly lovely. But she insists, and I cannot deny her of her wants. Plus her One Random Act of Kindness benefited me since she donated me her old Weird Sisters hoodie.

Dad thinks it's amazing how I've managed to write in this diary three whole days in a row. He says he still has diaries from the eighties that have never been opened. Mum started laughing then at the mere thought that anyone might consider my father intellectual enough to purchase him a diary.


	4. January 1st

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. **

_January 1__st_

**9.30 p.m. **Apparently I'm supposed to have a New Year's Resolution.

I don't know what it'll be yet; I've already taken up being good.

Maybe I'll give up chocolate. On the other hand, maybe I won't. That's for lent, a year would be unnecessarily painful.

Or maybe I'll give up swearing.

Actually, I swore grossly today, perhaps not.

Had a brilliant New Year's Eve; for the first time I managed to evade family's clutches and go to a party with Fearne and Angela Fritton, stunning blonde from my year in school. Great party, other than Lorcan Scamander's failed attempt at fire-eating. Luckily for him, the Healers got there pretty quick.

New Year's Day was pretty good as well, although it was family visiting.

I have also come to the conclusion that my hair has a mind of its own, and as we are both in adolescent stage, it is rebelling against me. I would like to inform my hair that I find this very rude, as, after all, I grew each and every strand myself; the least it could do for me in return is behave in a way I deem acceptable. Angela Fritton assures me that I am not alone on this matter and in fact even her fresh-out-of-Friends Jennifer Aniston style hair can in fact be quite unruly at times. Having been on the Astronomy Tower in the rain and wind with Angela and returning inside to see she has not a hair out of place before, I find this very hard to believe, and would like to tell Angela to suck it up, girl. You have no real problems.

**9.45 p.m.** Isn't Fred hilarious? He rises from his pit for the first time today in a seriously hung over state, takes one look at me and goes "Rox? What's up with your hair? It looks like an owl shat on your head." He obviously meant regurgitation or whatever, where they don't properly digest, but his alcohol poisoning restricted him from stringing together any words longer than a syllable. Funny, Fred, funny. It was so hard not to rise to that one, it hurt a little. But I just offered him a cuppa. THAT was my revenge. He has a go and I offer him a Random Act of Goodness. Mwahahahaha.

**10 p.m.** I can no longer pretend I don't need any sleep. I promised the parents that if I went out last night I would remain awake throughout Nana (Mum's mum, Jamaican odyssey) and Gramps (Mum's dad, miserable London cabbie)'s New Year dinner, and I can honestly say I survived. It is impossible to fall asleep when you have your nine year old cousin badgering you to "speak something pretty" in French. It was quite fun actually; we don't see Mum's family quite as much as the Weasleys, and the Johnsons are just as fun to be around. Uncle T's a stand up comic, and he's pretty good as well. But now, I feel that as I sit here, attempting to re-watch _About a Boy _on my salvaged Panasonic VHS player, I am no longer capable of keeping my eyes open. And so, I shall not.

Goodnight.


	5. January 3rd

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP**

_January 3__rd_

**11.52 p.m. **Back to Hogwarts tomorrow. Back to Abrah bleeding Venison and her tartish ways. Back to Adam and his hilarity. Back to Fearne and her self-righteous and opinionated views. Back to watching out for James, Rose and Albus.

In other news, I discovered today that whilst it may be the truth, it is socially unacceptable to take over two sugars in ones tea whilst in public. When the waitress at the posh teahouse where Victoire works (I swear they only let her in because her name is pretentious, one of those girls who works there is called Daffodillia) asked if I would like her to put any cubes in my tea for me with the sugar tongs, Mum cut across me and said I take two. When I raised my eyebrows at her and asked for three, Clematis (the waitress – told you they were posh names) gave me an odd look, before plopping in two cubes and telling me "to help myself to any more if you need it". When I asked what the fuss was about, Mum told me only take two sugars in future if I was in public. I don't really understand why, but Clematis the Tea Waitress seems to think it's etiquette to take two or none.

I also found out that apparently, babysitting, however incredibly painful and unbearable it is, is actually a Random Act of Goodness, and so looking after Rose and Hugo went down well. Uncle Ron was actually on his knees _begging_ me to stay and look after them, and I obliged. When they got home, Auntie H gave me a box of chocolates and two LPs. I'm pretty chuffed.


	6. January 4th

**Warning: this chapter does contain one case of strong language. If you've ever read I Solemnly Swear, when you get to that part you'll be like, what's the fuss about? But if you haven't then I feel it is my duty to warn you.**

_January 4__th_

**10.45 a.m. **I _told _them we were going to be late. But no, Dad insisted he could drive super fast. And now we're stuck in bloody traffic, and the Muggle news reporter says that it's for five miles. And we're not even anywhere near bloody London.

Mum is angry and swearing, Dad's getting pissed off and Fred is just being himself, just to provide further aggravation.

If I ever get back to Hogwarts, it's going to be a bloody miracle.

**11.03 a.m. **Abandoned attempt at driving to the station. Mother pulled over on the roadside, frogmarched Fred and I from the car and Apparated into the ladies at King's Cross. Quite astoundingly, it was empty, although Fred was still embarrassed when he left the loos and was spotted by a young woman with a little girl in pigtails who burst into tears. Served him right. I'm not sure what for yet, but there'll be some plausible reason.

Am now on train. Have already seen Her Majesty wandering the corridors with bright pink (_pink!_) hair. So vivid, it puts the Blackpool Illuminations to shame.

It's a pity it looks pretty good.

Must get Angela to find out which dye Venison uses.

**11.17 a.m. **I forgot how slow it is to get back to Hogwarts. Twice Dom has entered my compartment, leaving her fellow beauteous people behind, asking if I have any gum left whatsoever. I now have no gum left and thighs still the size of tree trunks. Goddamn cousins. But, I guess that was my One Random Act of Kindness for today. Aha! And it's not even the afternoon yet.

**12.00 p.m. **After a wonderful rendition of Abrah and the Flying Chalkboard Incident from second year as displayed by Adam, and a lecture on all the latest in feminism from Fearne, we have decided that we are rather peckish.

Adam is rather in the mood for Nutella sandwiches, as am I. But apparently the trolley lady doesn't sell those.

Which is very mean and slightly discriminatory of her, no?

**12.03 p.m.** Dear lord, the journey to Hogwarts is a long one. I'm already bored of Adam and Fearne's company; they're now bickering over Hugh Grant. Fearne's all like "evil womanising bastard!" whereas there's Adam, sitting there, hands behind his head, sighing about how despite his fuckwit tendencies, he's still remarkably dreamy.

I feel rather inclined to agree.

Although I am still partial to a Johnny Depp film. I think even Fearne is taken by Johnny Depp.

And Fearne's feminism puts my Mother to shame.

**12.12 p.m. **I wish the Hogwarts Express played music.

**12.40 p.m. **Abrah Venison has graced us with her pink headed presence. She does look a bit like something you'd stick on top of a Christmas tree today, what with her bubblegum curls and short cut black dress, neon blue tights meeting two inch shiny black heels.

Anyway, she slid into the compartment with a smile as fake as her nose, and squealed "Roxie!" before plunging down to give me an elaborate air kiss on each cheek.

"How're things?" she asked in her forced falsetto voice. "Fearne! I love what you've done with your hair. It's like, camo!" She leaned closer to Fearne, and whispered audibly, "Although, I think its camo clothes that are in fashion, not hair."

Over her shoulder, her friend giggled.

Fearne, who's had khaki streaks put in with her purple spikes, flashed Venison a smile that I recognised as her serious-shit-is-about-to-go-down smirk.

"Thanks, B!" she said, the smile still on her face. She reached out and pulled one of Abrah's fluorescent curls into her hand. "I love yours too! Although I thought that this was the fashion for toilet brushes. Mind you, it suits trollops."

I personally feel it was a feat not to laugh at her owning of the situation.


	7. January 7th

**I haven't updated in ages. This is very bad of me, so I'll try and update more frequently :D Sorry D: **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**January 7****th**

**9.30pm** Okay, I confess. I haven't exactly been good these past few days. But time flies and its difficult trying to keep up with your work _and_ be good at the same time, you know?

But I swear it was all Fearne's fault. She channels her violence into me, I swear she does. Normally I wouldn't harm a fly, not even a morbidly obese wasp with a sting the size of a darning needle.

Fearne is well on her way to becoming a feminist extremist. Unlike my mother whose feminism varies when a man flatters her, Fearne is a hard-core sexism-battler, probably to the point of being sexist towards men. The only man she deems acceptable is Adam, but I think that's only because he's pretty feminist too.

Anyway, her language is foul, her actions are violent and her views are extreme, and for the past few days I swear she has been channelling it directly into me.

For instance, the other day when Fred asked me to "be a dear" and get him a sandwich from the kitchens, I responded "Do it yourself you lazy bastard! Just because I'm a woman..."

I now think that even if I had testicles, a moustache and a Yorkie Bar he'd have asked me to attend his every need, but that's not the point.

Anyway, I hexed him. That's not really the point either.

The point is, I need to get back on track. I _have_ to be good, and I'm going to have to be extra good for the next few days in order to make up for the last ones. Now I understand why Auntie Gin said set a target. What is my aim with this, other than to fill a diary?

No! I must not think like that. Positive thoughts. I am doing this goodness lark to become a better person, and being pessimistic is not going to help me get there. So enough, Roxanne!

Today, I shall finish my homework, which will be about six Random Acts of Kindness to the teachers tomorrow when the amount of work handed in on time is increased by one. That should make up for my... relapse... in recent times.

**11.57pm** Potions essay is finished. Took a little longer than expected. Or rather, a lot longer. The only people still awake are a group of second years who want to test how long they can stay up before they're forced to go to bed. My best wishes to them to pull an all-nighter, it'd be an impressive feat for a bunch of twelve/thirteen year olds. When they get some proper homework they won't even attempt such tomfoolery.

Even Brom, my cantankerous and slightly obese cat who skulks in shadows and likes to poke his paw up through the chairs to creep people out, has given up and retired to bed. Since Brom spends virtually all night fighting with scrawnier felines, something that could be considered bullying upon his part, his decision to go to sleep would probably insinuate it's time for me to do likewise.

Perhaps I could count the Potions essay for my goodness thingy.

It took bloody long enough.


End file.
